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Tuesday, November 30, 2010

I once made the mistake of falling asleep with two rowdy raccoons loose in my room, scurrying across my floor, scampering around in my closet, and tampering with my dresser. Unfortunately, something on top of said dresser was of quite a bit of value: The particular object happened to be my wallet. Ringo, one of the raccoons, probably saw me removing it from my pocket and had been waiting all night for an opportunity to investigate. The little rascal must have grabbed hold of the metal handles, then pulled himself up the individual drawers one by one, and finally reached the pinnacle to obtain his prize. The crafty little devil proceeded to lug my wallet all the way back down to the floor. Perfect, a money-hungry animal. I mean that quite literally, for Ringo decided that he should not be content with skittering around my room with his prize in his mouth, nor should he be satisfied with the fact that he was scattering the money therein, but that he would be happy only when he ate a part of the highest valued bill I had inside. Ringo ate that fifty, and then I woke up. To retrieve my cash, I knew I could do nothing, so capture the raccoons I decided to. Why must crazy, freedom-loving, masked mammals know I cannot fit under my own bed as they can? As they hid in that sanctuary, I reached and groped and skimmed and grasped and lured with my hand. After a long session of raccoon noodling, with my arm beginning to wear out, with my hand succumbing to the quick guerilla strikes, with my patience wearing wafer thin, I finally caught the rascals and put them in their pen outside.